


2:36 a.m.

by AutumnHobbit



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Brothers, Dick is a Cop, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Medical Shtuff, No Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 16:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10666146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnHobbit/pseuds/AutumnHobbit
Summary: anonymous said: Gen Tim and Damian huh? Hm. Dick is hurt on his beat as a cop, Bruce is out of country on business, Jason is also out of town, Alfred is with Bruce, and the girls are taking care of vigilanti business. So Tim and Damian are waiting for news at the hospital by themselves. Tim accepted this possibility when Dick first started, Damian was only prepared as far as their nightwork. Tim comforts Damian and helps him come to terms, and Damian puts a hand on Tim's shoulder when Damian finds him crying._____Tim skidded to a stop once he reached the waiting room, because a very familiar eleven-year-old was sitting all alone in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, sneakered feet dangling. In fact, he was entirely in civvies; lightly mud-splattered jeans and a slightly-too-large t-shirt. His black hair was mussed and windswept, and his expression was vacant and lost.





	2:36 a.m.

**Author's Note:**

> have an angsty one-shot that delves into Damian and Tim's issues and Tim's reactions to Damian's death because I can. Hope you enjoy, anon. :)

Tim shoved through the door to the OR's waiting room violently, only capable of sparing a vague hope that no one was on the other side. He half-ran down the hallway and into the waiting room, wondering if he should try to page Dr. Thompkins first, or call someone, anyone; maybe the commissioner or someone on the force. But he skidded to a stop once he reached the waiting room, because a very familiar eleven-year-old was sitting all alone in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, sneakered feet dangling. In fact, he was entirely in civvies; lightly mud-splattered jeans and a slightly-too-large t-shirt. His black hair was mussed and windswept, and his expression was vacant and lost.

 _"Damian!?"_ Tim asked breathlessly, mind racing. Because he knew for a fact that Bruce was in Tehran, because he'd been texting him about his case there for the whole week. And he knew for a fact that Alfred was with him, because he'd gotten on the phone real quick at one point to tell Tim hello and to remind him to drink water rather than coffee once in a while. Jason was off with his latest set of Outlaws somewhere, Steph and Cass were with Bruce. So who the hell was watching Damian?

"How did you get here?" Tim asked, still huffing from exertion, and more than a little panic.

"Kent flew me," Damian said, too quiet, his gaze not moving an inch from the door to the OR. Of course, Tim realized. It made sense for Damian to stay with the Kents; Jon was his friend, and he'd be relatively safe from unaccompanied Robin work in Kansas.

"Did Clark stay?" Tim asked, suddenly hoping that the man was somewhere in the hospital. Having Clark along, with his polite and kind-hearted manner paired with his ability to get people to talk and cooperate, would make dealing with this undoubted mess so much easier.

Damian numbly shook his head. "League. He had to go."

Tim felt as if all the imaginary wind had drained from his sails, and he dropped into the chair beside Damian, head in his hands. "Did you find out anything?" He eventually asked, voice hoarser than he would have liked.

"The Commissioner said it was a double-agent," Damian said, bereft of tone. "One of their men."

"Fuck," Tim said, running his hand over his eyes. Damian said nothing, but seemed inclined to agree. "Did..." Tim spoke up when Damian wasn't forthcoming with any new information, swallowing hard. "Did he say how bad it was?"

"Bad." Damian said blankly. "They got him here in fifteen minutes and they said it'll be at least another four hours in surgery."

Tim closed his eyes tightly, burying his face in his hands. Oh, this was _not_ good. He'd always kind of dreaded a situation like this, ever since Dick took a job with the police force, but he'd hoped and prayed it would never happen. After all, their nightlife was already dangerous, and he'd survived that, hadn't he? But of course their damned luck couldn't hold out. But Tim had prepared himself already for something like this to happen. After Kon, and Bart, and Cassie, and Steph, and Bruce, and his dad, and Jason, and _everyone_...expecting the worst was kind of his default position.

He straightened slightly, wondering if he should call Bruce. He _hoped_ it wasn't bad enough to warrant it, because it would be a long flight to get back, but...Bruce would _never_ forgive himself if one of them died and he wasn't there with them, especially not after Jason. He dug his phone out of his pocket, started to type at least five different variations of the text, and erased every one. He stared at his scratched-up phone screen and the flashing cursor for a moment, and finally typed out, _Dick was shot. Today on shift. Waiting in OR. Probly critical; haven't heard anything._

The door opened with a loud click, and Tim's head snapped up. He could sense Damian doing the same with a faint gasp, but it was just a couple of off-duty doctors going to clock in. The door swung closed behind them, and the tense silence settled back over the room.

Tim heaved a sigh, trying to calm his heart down a bit after the startle. Then he realized that a noise had joined the echoey ticking of the clock; a small, breathless sound. He glanced over at Damian, and started at how _pale_ he'd gone in the last few seconds, and how he was making odd little noises as he hyperventilated, still staring at the door.

"Damian," Tim said, voice rising a bit as he stood up quickly, crouching in front of the boy and grabbing him by the shoulders. Damian kept gulping, and he was growing even paler, if it was possible. "Damian, you need to calm down." He tried not to shake the boy, but he was beginning to panic himself. Damian's breaths were so fast that they were blending in with each other, and Tim wracked his brain for some way to make him calm down. He finally pulled Damian into his arms clumsily, pressing him close and rubbing his back. "Damian, breathe, buddy. Come on." He guided Damian's face into his neck, feeling the faint puffs of air from his hysterical breaths. He cupped the back of Damian's head and stroked his hair. "Come on, kid. Breathe with me. In. Out. Come on."

Damian kept gulping, but his hand tensed in between him and Tim, pulling into a fist. He took a stuttering, short breath.

"Good. Keep going. In," Tim said quietly, trying to project calm, and Damian tried again. This breath was still short, but only stuttered a bit near the beginning. Tim half-rocked the kid and kept talking to him, and finally Damian's breaths were somewhat closer to being steady and deep, and Tim breathed his own sigh of relief. He tried to lean back so he could get a better look at Damian, to see if his color had improved, but Damian clung to his shirt and his breathing started speeding up again, so Tim gave up and re-tightened his grip, resting his chin on top of Damian's head.

The two of them sat alone in the silence for a few minutes.

"He...he was _Batman,"_ Damian said out of nowhere, in a hushed, pained, small voice. "He still is. He can't...he can't---this can't _happen."_

Tim sighed, closed his eyes and buried his face in Damian's hair. "I know."

Except it could. It could, and it was, and Dick was back there somewhere, all alone on a cold metal table, most likely bleeding out. Maybe he was already dead, already gone forever out of reach, and Tim wasn't even sure what day it was when he last saw him, or what he said to him then, and he wasn't even aware he was crying until his shoulders heaved with a sudden, violent sob. All the air in his lungs went out and back into him quickly, and Damian's hand was patting his face frantically.

 _"Drake!?"_ He said, and Tim cursed viciously in his head. He was scaring Damian. The kid was scared enough already, and now Tim was breaking down and he didn't know what to do with it. It was probably making it harder for _him_ to hold it together. Tim understood this perfectly, but that didn't remotely mean he was capable of stopping. He couldn't even _remember_ the last time he'd cried, let alone this hard, but he sat there and clung to Damian and wept. And, to Tim's vague surprise, Damian threw his little arms around him--they weren't _quite_ long enough to encircle Tim all the way--and pressed in. "Shhh, Drake. Do not cry. It'll be alright. Please do not cry," Damian sounded like he might cry himself if this kept up, so Tim took a shaky breath and tried to stifle his sobs. It didn't work so well at first, but eventually he calmed down, and he freed one arm and reached up to scrub his sleeve across his eyes and nose, sniffling.

"Sorry," he croaked. "I don't know why I did that, I don't--"

"It's okay," Damian said quickly, still clinging to the back of Tim's shirt. Tim heaved a sigh and wrapped an arm around Damian's back, leaning in and tucking his chin on top of Damian's head again.

"I'm just...so _tired_ of this," Tim whispered.

Damian gulped shakily. "I...I always expected that one day he'd...he'd..." The boy's voice broke. "But...but as _Batman!_ Or even Nightwing. Not...not like _this._ Not in a silly civilian job. Not betrayed, with none of us nearby to protect him. He--he deserves _better_ than that!"

Tim closed his eyes. "Being a cop is dangerous, Dames. Probably equally dangerous to our stuff, if not more. They don't have secret identities to keep their home lives safe. But you're right," Tim sighed. "He's tougher than any of them know, been through more."

There was a pause. "I--I was in a hurry," Damian gulped, hushed, like he was confessing some sort of sin. "And headed to the Kents, and I...I ran off without giving him a hug. He offered one, but I ran past and called 'bye' behind me." Damian pressed his face into the front of Tim's shirt.

Tim sighed. "Dames, it's not your fault."

"I know that! But...I shouldn't have skipped it. Ever. I should know better than that." He gulped. "I've died, I should know better--"

"Sshhh, Dames," Tim clenched his eyes shut and pulled the smaller boy close. The reminder made him sick, even more so since Damian was so small and curled up in his lap, fitting perfectly there.

"I..." Damian gulped. "One of---the _only_ things I was thinking about when I was..." Damian broke off with a choke, "...was when I'd last hugged Grayson, or what the last thing Father said to me was, or what I said to him." He blinked up at Tim, his lashes wet, eyes painfully large and sad. "I wondered what the last thing I said to you was."

Tim blinked burning eyes. He'd wondered what he'd last said to Damian, too. He never could wind up remembering, no matter how many nights the thought kept him awake, or woke him in dread, or occurred to him as he sat and tried to work. It haunted him to think that it might have been an insult. Probably was.

"It turned out okay," he finally said lamely. "You're back. That's all that matters."

Damian glanced up, very vulnerable-looking. He blinked his large, dark eyes. "You mean that?" He asked, hushed.

"Of course." Tim said, surprised at how much he meant it. "But..." he bit his lip. "I owe you an apology."

Damian blinked. "For what?"

"For...everything, basically." Tim groaned. How could he even begin to explain this? "I...hell, Damian. Look. You hurt me. Badly. I was going through the years from hell and you showed up with an obnoxious attitude and murderous tendencies and took over my life. I had no say in anything. Dick gave Robin to you without even _asking_ me--" Tin tried hard to stifle the burning resentment that was still present towards his oldest brother over that; which felt all kinds of _wrong_ considering he was possibly dying. "You constantly beat me down to assert yourself, and I hated you. But--" his voice half-rose in panic when he saw Damian immediately duck his head to hide how his eyes were filling again. "But I was older. I never made an effort to understand where you were coming from or why you acted the way you did. And your mistakes didn't justify mine. I could have tried to be better if I'd wanted to, but I didn't want to. I let my anger control me instead of the other way around, and that was wrong. And..." Tim gulped. "And when you...when you were gone, I would have given _anything_ to have you back, so I could try again. I'm...I'm _sorry."_

"So am I," Damian mumbled, pressed in again, sounding sleepy but sincere. Tim glanced up at the clock. It was 2:36 in the morning. He glanced back down, opening his mouth to say something else, but trailed off when he saw Damian was half-asleep, his eyelids slowly drifting closed. Sighing, Tim shifted slightly in the stupid chair, and settled in to wait.

The door opening woke him up an uncertain amount of time later, and he raised his head, blinking painfully and trying to force his vision to focus on the clock. It was 3:19, and he belatedly realized there was a man in scrubs standing and looking at him.

"Hi," Tim mumbled, freeing a hand from beneath Damian and rubbing his eyes.

"Hello," the man said. "Are you related to Richard Grayson?"

"Yes," Tim said, swallowing hard and steeling himself. "How is he?"

"He's out of surgery and in recovery in the ICU. He was shot in the right lung, which tore open the chest wall. The bullet was lodged against his aorta, which was why surgery took so long. We have him sedated on a ventilator, and on antibiotics for the next few days at minimum, but he seems to have pulled through the surgery, and his vitals have stabilized fairly well, considering the circumstances. I can't guarantee anything, of course, but his chances of recovery are good, especially if he makes it through the next few days without lingering complications."

Tim exhaled raggedly. "Thank God. And thank you for letting me know."

The man nodded. "Of course." He gave the still-sleeping Damian a sympathetic look. "Do you boys need a ride home?"

"I..." Tim paused, unsure of what the best thing to do was. "I don't know." He glanced down at Damian. "I'd feel bad to go home and leave Dick here alone."

The man frowned thoughtfully. "Well..." he said. "It is fairly early, and at the moment it's not too crowded...I think you two could probably come in and sit with him, so long as you're not hindering the staff from doing their job in any way. But by the looks of you," he said wryly, "I assume you'll probably be sleeping, anyway."

Tim managed a smile. "That would be great. Thank you so much."

"My pleasure," the man said, opening the door and holding it. Tim got up out of the chair a bit clumsily, sore from the chair and the cramped position he'd been in, hefting Damian up and carrying him inside. He followed the man down the halls, empty and quiet except for a few hushed conversations and the occasional nurse or doctor walking by. The man turned a corner, and Tim did likewise, surprised to see the commissioner standing outside one of the rooms, looking at least ten years older than usual. He looked surprised and regretful when he saw Tim.

"Tim," he said apologetically, pushing up off the wall. "I'm so sorry, if I'd known you were here I would have had them bring you in sooner..."

"It's alright, Commissioner." Tim said. "We managed."

Jim shook his head, guilt written on his face. "I've got more to apologize for than just that. I'm just so sorry this happened. If I'd been keeping a better eye on my subordinates..."

"Jim. Really. It's alright." Tim insisted. "It's not your fault, and I'll bet Dick'll tell you so when he wakes up, too."

"I hope so," Jim said, shaking his head. "He's a good kid. Does Damian need a ride home?"

"Nah," Tim said. "Bruce is out of the country and on his way back. I'm all he's got at the moment."

"Alright," Jim said tiredly. He patted Tim's shoulder, and Damian's head. "I'd better try and find somewhere to get some sleep, myself. Got my work cut out for me in the morning. Give your dad my regards."

Tim nodded. "I will."

The commissioner walked off, and the nurse, who had waited patiently through the whole conversation, opened the door to Dick's room and stepped back, allowing Tim to go first.

Tim stepped in and moved a bit to the side to make room for the nurse, swallowing hard at the sight of his older brother. He was still and slack in the bed, his fingers curled slightly on the sheet, his eyelids closed and darkened. His bare chest had a prominent bandage fixed over the wound, and a chest tube stuck out from between his ribs. His usually ruddy complexion was drained to grayish, his lips white. His thick black hair was rumpled and messy.

The nurse quickly checked the monitors and adjusted the IV line to make sure it had enough slack, then walked over to a closet and pulled out a collapsible gurney, setting it up. "There's a vending machine down the hall past this room and to the right. A nurse will be by every hour to check on him."

Tim nodded, stepping over and sitting down on the bed, carefully setting Damian down on his side. "Thank you again."

The nurse nodded politely, and with a final glance at the monitors, left the room. Tim slowly slid down on his side next to Damian, feeling bone-weary, inside and out. He didn't think he would be able to fall asleep at first, but he curled around Damian and fixed his eyes on Dick's still but breathing form in the bed next to them, and was asleep in only a few minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr: autumnhobbit.tumblr.com


End file.
